


Affliction

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopian, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: Ned Stark's death during the war and his family's downfall that followed had been assumed to be end of the North's fight for their independence.But Starks endure, and those following his legacy are much less forgiving.---"I found Jon," Sansa tells Arya through their encrypted phone line as she looked at her monitor.Prisoner I91A1S2E: The Deadman. That's what his file in front of her says, all its information matching Jon's description and the timeline of his disappearance."I'm going to get him out and it's going to be the wrong thing to do." Playing right into Baelish's trap is always the wrong thing to do. But it's Jon, there's no way she'll abandon him, no matter the cost.---dystopian





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the whole 'Jon is the damsel in distress' thing that went around during s7, so yeah. Hahaha.
> 
> PS tags and trigger warnings will increase as the fic progress, so keep an eye on it just to be safe. Thank you!

  
**Sansa**

  
Sansa discreetly surveyed the elegant ballroom when she entered, soft music playing in the backround as people chattered all over the place.

Gathered around the ballroom are the most powerful families in the South, dressed in finery to show off their wealth and fortune: celebrating, as though there's anything to celebrate at all.

 _It's like we're not at war_ , she thinks scornfully, trying to swallow down the anger rising from the pit of her stomach.

Everyone's dancing and laughing, mindless of the violence currently happening at the frontlines.

 _You're one to talk,_ something bitter inside her bites back. _You're right there with them, drinking their wine and playing their game._

 _Safe,_ when thousands of men from both the South and North are dying for a cause that's not their own.

It's easy to tell herself that she's doing what she can to help end this war once and for all, like her father would have wanted, but that doen't mean it feels good.

She does not know how to hold a gun and fight on a battlefield, but she knows Southern politics, knows that mere words could kill just as surely as a bullet, coming from the right person.

So she makes her way around the ballroom, exhanging pleasantries with one power-hungry individual to the next, all the while keeping a languid smile firmly planted on her face.

It's an easy enough task to accomplish; three years learning to mask her emotions and nobody doubts the smile on her face. They think she's one of them, just another person trying to capitalize on the war. Better to let them think that way, if she wants to succeed in her plan.

"Alayne Stone." A man approaches her once she'd settled by the bar, awaiting her drink. "I've heard so much about you."

He's in uniform; a quick glance at the ranking on his chest tells her he's of a high position.

 _Harry Hardyng_ , reads the stitching on the upper right corner of his uniform. She's heard of him before, a man of the Vale, which means -

Her eyes flick behind Harry, catching Petyr Baelish watch her with interest. He doesn't seem to mind being caught, even raises his champagne flute to her in cheers with that wormy smile of his.

She's tempted to scowl at the sight of him - or retch, even - but manages to keep her face blank.

She summons a smile towards Harry, knowing to keep her guard up. The man is one of Baelish's pawns, and damn her if she lets her guard down now.

"Harry Hardyng, the pleasure is all mine," She says in a silky smooth voice.

His grin widens, pleased to be recognized, and she notes that there's an air of arrogance in his smile - a telling sign that he hasn't suffered even a day of this war. Just like everybody else around her.

She's met plenty of men who's fought in this war, brought back from the frontlines with broken - some, even missing - limbs, and missing pieces of their sanity.

She could always tell from the look in their eyes. Distant, like they're someplace else, maybe back in the thick of war, reliving the horrors of it over and over again.

"Champagne?" Harry offers, handing out the other glass he's holding.

"Thank you," she says, her eyes just barely catching the ring on his finger when she accepted the flute.

She keeps a perfectly practiced smile on her face as she catches his eyes again, resisting the temptation to glance back at the ring lest she wants him to catch on.

Maybe he already knows whose ring it is he wears, maybe he's been told to parade it around her. He is Baelish's man after all, and none of this would be a coincidence.

She knows Baelish well, though, understands that he loves his secrets, and he wouldn't feel inclinded to share them even to his most trusted friend, if he had any at all. If she had to guess, she'd say that Harry's clueless about all this.

Baelish is playing his own little game with her; he's baiting her, and to take it would be an idiotic move.

It would be dangerous to play right into his cards, and it's what he expects from her. A silly little girl playing a game that's beyond her understanding.

To him she's nothing but just another pawn to put into his fold; easy to manipulate, easy to control.

She takes a lazy sip of her champagne, eyes still on the soldier as he regals her with tall tales that she has no care for. It's obvious he expects her to be swept off her feet with his stories, but she isn't, though she pretends that she is for appearance's sake. No one meeds to know how she truly feels.  
  
Later, once the celebrations has ceased and she's back in her apartment at the Red Keep, she calls Arya through their encrypted line.

The party had gone on for longer than she expected and Harry Hardyng trailed after her throughout it all.

She can guess at what he wants from her - not that she'd ever relent to it should he ask, but she's glad to know how far his connections with Baelish goes.

Not well enough to know the truth. _Expendable_ , in other words.

"I'm going to do something stupid," she says as soon as Arya's line connects.

"What kind of stupid?"

She sucked in a deep breath, almost not believing what she's about to say. "I found Jon."

She turns to look at her data pad, Jon's file on the screen.

 _Prisoner I91A1S2E: The Deadman._ That's what his file says. There aren't any pictures to prove it's him, but his file adds up. And, there's the fact that Baelish is practically spoon-feeding all this to her.

Years of searching for him and all she had to do was hack into the system and look through some soldier's command log and there it is.

 _Jon Snow_ , hidden to her all these years.

"They have him. I'm going to get him out and it's going to be the wrong thing to do." Playing right into Baelish's trap is always the wrong thing to do. But it's Jon, there's no way she'll abandon him, no matter the cost.

"I know you're not going to stop me," she continues to Arya. "You'd do the same if it was Gendry. Hell, you'd do it for Jon if you were here - and even if you tried to stop me, you know I won't listen. I'm calling because - " she swallowed, shutting her eyes. "If anything goes wrong, you have to make sure he gets North. Okay?"

"Of course, but - "

"I'm not putting myself in more danger than usual, it's just - " she huffs. "What I'm going to do, it won't be clean. It'll have ramifications."

After a pause, Arya speaks up again. "Alright. Tell me what you need me to do."

And so they hashed out a plan until the early hours of the morning, making sure that all grounds are covered before commiting to it.

It's going to be a small operation; just in and out, with a fifteen minute timeframe at most. If the plan goes smoothly, she'll be out in ten.

"You're going?" Brienne asks when Sansa finished relaying the plan to her and Podrick. "We can't even be sure it really is him."

"I am and it is," she says, no room for argument. "And it has to be me. No one else."

She doesn't elaborate, mostly because she can't defend her decisions properly. In truth, there's a million other ways to extract Jon without using her, and it might even be the smart choice, but she can't trust anyone else to do this for her.

"This is dangerous," Brienne says warningly, as is her right. "You're risking not just yourself but the entire Northern cause."

Sansa swallows. She knows exactly what she's risking, but a part of her - the selfish part - can't seem to care.

Now that she found him, she can't lose him. She'll sell her soul to the devil if it means Jon is alive and safe, that's how important he is to her.

For so long now, she didn't know whether he's dead or alive. Any trail she followed lead her to a dead end. It's either he died and no one could ID him or he's alive and their enemies are biding their time to use him to cripple the Northern side.

It's a good plan, but it wouldn't have accomplished much in the war. Jon was one of Ned Stark's most trusted battle commanders, and had they revealed their card when he was still alive, Ned Stark would've been open to a conversation to save Jon.

They chose to kill Ned Stark instead, and those following his legacy are much less forgiving.

"Alright Red, I'm booting up the virus now," Mya informed her through her ear piece.

She's already inside the premises; an old abandoned building near the mountain side of the Eyrie.

It's an odd place to keep a prisoner in; It's not even a verified war station, just a random place with minimum security. No doubt a part of Baelish's little game that Sansa's playing right into.

"System is rebooting in five, four, three, two..." She could hear all working machines shut down. "And your fifteen starts now."

Sansa clicks a button on her watch, starting her fifteen minute countdown. She waits a couple of seconds before ducking out of her hiding spot.

She came in through underground tunnels linked into the building, it wasn't in any blueprints and it took a while to actually find it but still, It's all been relatively easy so far, and she knows why that is. _It's a gift_.

"Gift horse," she mutters under her breath, turning a corner to the left where the enclosed room Jon's being held in should be, if their intel is correct.

She knows she could've gone in there with no protection at all and come out unscathed. All the planning, the system shut down, it's all for show.

That's why she didn't want anyone else doing this. This is all for her. A game designed for her to play.

She knows what Baelish wants; power. The way he thinks he'll get it is through her; the key to the North. And this whole charade is to show he's helping her in order to gain her trust.

 _No guards_ , she thought as she turned another corner. But looking up there are cameras everywhere, surely to keep track of her progress.

 _Useless at the moment though,_ she thinks with a glance to her watch. Twelve minutes left.

"Right there, Red," Mya says, startling her a little. She stops in front of a metal door, a keypad on the side of it. "That's it. The only room he could be in. Biometric locks, metal encasing. Only room without windows."

"Get me in," she says, voice thick with nervousness.

"Alright, with the system shut down, the biometrics won't work - " Mya explained, typing. "The back-up security is still running but it's easy to disable. Hold on a sec," she adds.

 _This is it,_ she thinks with no small amount of trepidation. _The person in there could be Jon and maybe she'll be able to breathe again_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions and Signs of Torture TW

**Jon**

 

" _How long do you think it's been since we last saw sunlight?_ " The Bull would've asked right about now.

He's four cells from Dead Man, so his voice would've been far away, but he'd ask the question enough times that they all already know it by heart.

"Same answer as yesterday," Giantslayer would reply gruffly, the only one who ever would. "Too fuckin' long."

Now though, the surrounding is quiet, Dead Man alone in his new cell. It's probably been a couple of days since his transfer but he can't be sure.

It's always hard to tell how quickly or slowly time passes. For all he knows it could've been a decade since his capture - or maybe just a month.

 _No, that's not right_ , he thinks groggily. _It must be longer than that._

Why does it even matter, really? Knowing how long he's been there won't help him. Either way he's stuck and he can't do anything about it.

Maybe if he was stronger; but his captors have done quite a number on him. His body is weak and broken, his limbs aching and his mind tired. _So, so tired._ Death would be mercy, but how can a dead man die?

 _Dead Man_ , that's what the Southern soldiers has taken to calling him. Just another way to take his identity from him, rid the world of who he once was.

"Jon?"

That's right. _Jon_. That used to be his name. But Jon Snow is dead now, and only a shadow of him remains.

All the darkest parts of the man he used to be, that's all that's left now. He has Jon Snow's memories, his anger, his pain and his sorrows. That's all there is to the man that used to hold so many things so dear.

Those he loved dearly, they're all dead too, just like him. Before, where he used to be, he could hear the soldiers whispering. Talking about the war and how their side is so close to winning now that the Starks are dead.

The Starks, a family that once stood tall and strong, has been eradicated. There's still some Northmen who keeps fighting, but the efforts are dwindling day by day without a leader to the cause. Or so he hears.

He often wonders if they could've done anything different, anything at all that could've kept them all alive and safe. But no, once Robert Baratheon died, the alliance between the North and the South was doomed to fail. That son of his was a greedy fool, and no amount of diplomacy could've sated his thirst for power.

Ned Stark tried to broker peace between the two sides many times but the only way to truly keep the North's independence was through war.

The North was succeeding too; until Southron soldiers slipped into one of the safehouses and stole the two Stark daughters in an attempt to imprison them and get Ned Stark to cave to Joffrey Baratheon's demand.

Arya managed to escape just shortly before they crossed the border, and had called for her father's men to help Sansa, but it was too late to save her. She died in the crossfires.

That's what broke Jon Snow. That's what landed him where he is now.

A sudden gasp makes his eyes snap open, but it's dark in his cell that he can't make anything out.

He could tell that he's not alone, but - he's never truly alone. The ghosts haunt him all the time, keeping him company in his lonesome.

" _Oh Jon,_ " he could hear a strained, familiar voice, and he knows exactly who it is.

It seems it's his love that will haunt him tonight. It's just as well, he wishes to be with her everyday. At peace and no longer suffering.

"Sansa," he utters her name slowly, his voice rough and unused.

She's the part of Jon Snow that never goes away, the one thing that keeps him holding onto sanity.

" _I'm here_ ," he could hear her whisper, voice filled with pain. "I've got you. I'm right here."

A soft touch to his cheek makes his body freeze. He opens his eyes again, frowning this time. There's a hooded figure right above him and he's too far gone to make sense of it.

Is this it? Has he lost his sanity after all? Is he envisioning death taking form of his love? Is he about to die?

Just as he's thinking it, the figure takes off the hood and striking blue eyes stare right into him.

He inhaled a sharp breath, shocked. It's his Sansa, but -- different. Older, eyes void of the innocence he once found there. Face a hard mask of emotion that, even with the tears falling on her face, doesn't reveal much.

It's a wonder that his thoughs are so coherent, when nothing makes sense to him. It's her though, she always gives him some sense of clarity. But -

Sansa is dead, he knows. Taken from him by the same people who has him now.

This must be a trick then; they do things differently here. Where the Mountain lets his fists speak back in the old grounds, the people in this new place liked to play with his mind.

 

  
**Sansa**

  
"Jon, no," she chokes out urgently, seeing his eyes drift close again. "Stay with me."

At first she thought he was already dead; that she was too late. He's lying on the stone floor, body thin and filled with blood and grime.

He looked like a _corpse_ ; unmoving. She knelt in front of him, speechless. The sight of him feels like getting her heart torn out of her chest. And then he said her name and hope spikes up again.

 _Sansa_. His voice was rough, but she'd recognize it anywhere.

 _What have they done to you?_ Her mind screams, her chest aching painfully at the sight of him.

She wiped the tears that started to stream down her cheeks, summoning some courage instead.

 _It's okay, I'm right here_ , she remembers Jon telling her years ago, pulling her into his arms.

_The war had just been declared then, her family right in the thick of it. She'd been terrified, and Jon was the first person she sought for comfort._

_"I want to be brave," she says tearfully. "but I'm so scared."_

_She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, feeling herself grow calmer just by the feel of him against her. He always makes her feel safe._

_Jon kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, I can be brave for the both of us," he whispered into her skin._

The memory makes the tears fall all the more, and she leans down, pressing her forehead softly against his.

"I'll be brave for the both of us this time," she lets him know. "Don't worry, Jon, I'm here now."

She sniffed, trying to regain her composure. She needs to keep a clear mind if she wants to save him. Time is the enemy here.

Taking a deep breath, she shakes off all her emotions. Reminds herself that she's steel and nothing can break her.

"I'm going to help you up, okay?" She keeps talking for his sake, to keep him from slipping from consciousness. "It's going to hurt, and I'm sorry, but it's the only way. Here we go."

As she expected, he screams in pain as soon as she tugs him up. She tries to be gentle but the state of his wounds ensures that no amount of carefulness can spare him from the pain.

She bites her lip so she doesn't cry; his pain is hers, and she vows to make everyone who did this to him, feel the pain they've caused.

She understands now why this whole thing had been simple; Baelish knew what she's going to find here.

The sight of Jon, broken and bloody and nearly dead - it's meant to inspire anger in her; to spread the fire already burning inside of her.

And it does its job.

 _They will pay_ , she promises darkly. They've already taken so much from her. And _no more_ , they're taking no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo, I sat on this fic for such a long time but I heard 'Rapture' by Tom Walker (which originally inspired the mood of this entire fic) and got me back into the vibe of writing this au.
> 
> Hope you guys like it! :D

> **Sansa**

  
Jon let out a painful groan as soon as the jeep hits another bump on the road, making Sansa hiss in both anger and pain on his behalf.

His whole body is littered with both old scars and fresh wounds; his face covered in blood and grime, and all she can think is that it's a miracle he's still alive.

 _And will remain that way,_ she thinks forcefully. She just found him, there's no way she's losing him again.

"We're almost there," she whispers to him, clutching his hand to her chest.

But 'there' isn't where she wants him to be; the closest she can bring Jon, in his state, is to one of their safe houses set up for wounded Northern soldiers on Southern soil.

It's not Winterfell; it's unsafe and he'd still be too close to their enemies than Sansa would like. But there's nothing else to be done about it. With Jon's wounds, it wouldn't be advisable to keep moving him from place to place without letting him heal first, which slows down their plans some.

It doesn't matter, though. His survival is the priority, and to Sansa, everything else comes only after that.

"We're being followed." The soldier on shotgun turns to her, looking for instruction.

She shifted on her spot at the back of the jeep, sliding an inch of the curtain covering the windows to check.

It's a slick black sedan; an old model, common with the smallfolk and probably untracable if she ran the plates on any database.

Baelish, she thinks with a scowl. Of course he'd be here now.

"Just keep going," she tells the soldier, shutting the blinds before looking at the soldier. "I'll tell you when to stop."

She turns to Jon, gently caressing his face as he murmured incoherently; almost delirious.

"Jon." Her voice is urgent, her time with him about to come to an end. "Please wake up."

She knows he's beyond exhausted at this point, his mind too hazy to understand, but she needs him to hear what she's about to say. She needs to see those grey eyes of his one more time before she lets him go.

"Jon, please," she urges again, running her thumb on that scar just above his eyebrow, and this time he hears her.

He struggles to open his eyes, as though he can't control it; an instinct.

"Sansa," he gasped out, eyes still too glassy to be really seeing her.

He doesn't think she's really there, she knows that much. He'd kept insisting that she's just a figment of his imagination all the way out as she rescued him.

She can't really blame him for believing it; that's what everybody else thinks too. Just as she planned.

"I love you," she tells him before anything else, her voice cracking as she leaned down, pressing his hand against her cheek. "I love you so much and I need you to be safe, okay? And alive - Jon, I need you to fight, do you hear me?"

He's just staring at her and it aches. By now, her Jon would have given her one of his rare smiles, he would've told her that she's worrying too much. And that of course he'll fight, because that's what Northmen are taught to do.

She fished his ring out of her back pocket, the one Harry Hardying was wearing, and raised it up to show him. His eyes settle on it with more confusion before she explains.

"I got it back for you," she told him simply, not elaborating on just what it took to get it. She slid the ring back on his third finger. "There. Right where it belongs."

"They'll bring you to Arya," she remembers to tell him after a moment, hoping to see just even a hint of hope in his eyes. "You want to see her, don't you?"

"Arya's dead," he said, a frown forming in his brows. "So are you."

"No, I'm not." She sucked in a deep breath as he dragged his hand up to touch her face. "See? I'm right here with you."

"I - " his frown deepens, and she can see in his eyes that he's fighting to make sense of it. "I don't understand."

"I know you don't," she tells him, heartbroken. "You'll understand soon. Arya will explain it, I - I have to go."

"No." His hand drops to her arm, eyes almost pleading. "Don't. Don't leave me. Not yet."

"I can't stay," she said, shaking her head brokenly as his eyes fell in disappointment. "I'm sorry."

She leaned down to press her lips against his; a promise. She can't stay now but once all this is over, they'll be together again. He just has to fight.

He tastes like blood and metal and grime, but it only makes her kiss him harder. It serves to remind her of so much that he's - that they've - been through. And the pain and suffering their enemies have wreaked, she'll make them pay for it all.

She pulled away, hesitant, and rested her forehead against his. Finally knowing that he's alive sends a certain calm through her; peace like she hasn't felt since the day he left for war.

"Please stay alive for me," she murmured, throat locking as she forced herself not to cry.

Unlike the last time they parted all those years ago, she won't cry this time. This time she'll be brave and strong, and when he's better and he remembers this, he'll know that she's strong, and that it's for him.

With a deep breath, she sat up and tried to come up with a plan. Personally bringing Jon to the meet-up point had not heen part of the plan.

It was the thought of leaving him just as soon as she found him that made her insist on accompanying him; trying to steal as much time as she could.

Brienne had advised against it, reminding her that it would be unsafe. They're travelling with minimum security to avoid detection, and it's too much risk for the North if any harm comes her way.

What they don't understand is that any danger that falls on Jon at this point will affect her too. But she can't keep being selfish, not with everything at stake.

She commands the soldier to stop driving, upon coming to a decision, and to pull up on the side of the road.

"Take a new route, make sure no one's following this time," she instructed, putting an edge to her voice so they know there's no room for mistakes. "This man was Ned Stark's second-in-command. Protect him at all cost."

She took a deep breath, thinking of what else she needs to say. The entire plan had been resting on being lowkey; the less attention they have, the easier it'll be, which is why they're travelling with only two Northern soldiers as protection.

She's not expecting any trouble, but Baelish knowing exactly where to find them is cause for worry.

"Once you're back on the road, radio the Blackfish. Have him send men to meet you halfway to the camp," She decided. "Understood?"

"Yes, maam, but -- " Concern crosses the soldier's face. "I'm not sure we should leave you unprotected. The Blackfish will - "

You've been given your command, soldier," she cut off, no room for discussion. "I expect you to follow it."

She knows that she's not making any sense, telling them to drop her off in the middle of nowhere with no protection or back-up, but it's better that they don't know.

He still looked to be against the decision but nodded in acceptance, unwilling to disobey her orders.

She gives Jon one last look; he's asleep again, his energy probably drained out with everything that's happened so far. The next time he wakes, she'll be gone.

She swallowed, forcing all her emotion down where no one can reach them. She leaned over for just one final touch, pressing their forehead together as she prayed to all that gods that they would protect him.

And then she stepped out.

The cool air is a sharp contrast to the thick, warm air inside the jeep, and she takes a calming breath as she watched it drive away to safety.

Once it's out from view she finally turns to the other side of the road where the sedan had parked, waiting for her. After summoning some strength with the knowledge that Jon is away from Baelish's reach, she steps into the sedan, not bothering to look at the person already in there.

"Is your friend alright?" Baelish asked, amusement coloring his tone as he spoke. "He's on the way to safety, I presume. Winterfell, perhaps?"

Sansa remains impassive as not to give anything away. She won't be fooled to think that he's clueless; he _thinks_ he knows exactly where Jon is headed. And probably already has plans set in motion to ruin it. Only this time, Sansa made sure to be five steps ahead of him.

Tomorrow morning, news of a Northern refugee camp burned doewn will be released to the press, and there will be one exactly fitting the description just near Runestone, as proof. The Southroners will believe that it's a win on their side, Baelish might even think it's his bright mind that orchestrated it all.

But by that time, everyone on that camp would've already been on the way North, travelling through disguised Northern fleet, "carrying supplies" for the Southern army positioned just beyond the border.

It'll be an ambush; two hundred of Sansa's men on those fleet will infiltrate the Southron camp posing as soldiers coming to aid in the battle while the Northmen from the frontlines will be attacking under Arya's command.

Jon, meanwhile, will be in Riverrun with her uncle Brynden. once the lines had been pushed back farther South, and Jon is well enough to travel, he'll be guided to the Neck where Arya will meet him.

She turned to Baelish, face betraying no emotion. "What do you want, Petyr?"

"To help, to make sure the North wins this war," he said in, what she now refers to as, a theatrical tone. Which means he does not mean a word of what he's saying. "As you know, I loved your mother and I will never forgive the fate forced upon her. I seek revenge on anyone involved in her demise. As well as your family's."

 _And what of your involvement?_ She wants to ask but manages to keep her tongue in check. There will come a time that he'll pay for his crimes against her family, but now is not it.

"And in return?" She asked, eyebrows arched in faux-innocence. "What shall the North offer you in thanks?"

She catches the satisfied smirk that appeared on his lips just before it disappears, and she's glad for it. He thinks he's got her wrapped around his little finger.

"I want nothing in return," he says somberly. "I only want to advise you in the battles to come. To make it known that I stand behind the North, and in turn, the Starks."

 _Lies_ , she wants to say. _All lies_.

He's as responsible for her family's downfall as the rest of them. Yet, he dares to lie right in front of her face.

She betrays none of her thoughts though, completely aware that appearances must be kept in order to accomplish a much bigger task than simply beating Baelish at his own game.

"Very well," she said finally, forcing a pretty smile upon her lips as she glanced at him. "You will be beneficial to our cause."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYkSAUn4OEzoRbociREqI3t3kG1yrLW43) I listen to to get in the miod for this fic, just in case anyone's interested.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

**Jon**

 

Jon wakes up three days later after the fire, or so he's later told, lying on a bed of grass as the sun started to peek between the mountains. It's a wondrous sight, one that brings a lump to his throat.

He's not seen the sunrise in so long; he can't be sure of the exact time since the last but that his days since his capture had been a never-ending darkness and the bright sun rays flashing around him are a welcome change.

"You're awake," a gruff voice calls for his attention. "Finally."

He sits up, slow on his movements from his wounds and body aches, and turned to the direction of the man sitting near him.

It takes a moment before he places his face from his memory. "Brynden Tully." He said, frowning in confusion. "You're alive?"

The man smirked at that but Jon doesn't see any humor in his expression. Last he'd heard of the Blackfish was that his army had been defeated at the front, pushing the defense line further into the North.

That information came from whispering guards back at the old ground, of course, and it now proves to be unreliable, all things considering. Maybe they were lying about everything.

"Takes a lot to kill me, boy," Brynden says before nodding at him. And you? I've not heard news of you in years yet here you are, alive."

"Trust me," Jon said with a weary sigh. "That's with no help from me." He ran a hand through his grime-slicked hair, hesitant to ask his next question. "How did you find me?"

"Me?" The Blackfish asked in surprise. "I'd nothing to do with it. You don't remember?"

Jon shook his head, his frown deepening as he tried to recall what he can. "Last I remember, they transferred me and... it all gets fuzzy from there." He paused, tgoughtful. "There's some other bits and pieces, I think... but -- " he shook his head again. "It can't be true, probably just my mind playing tricks on me."

The Blackfish studied him with a piercing gaze. "You saw _her_ ," Blackfish said, flat. "If you did, it's true. It's not just your mind playing tricks. She saved you."

Jon blinked at him, confused. _It can't be true_ , he still thinks to himself. _She's dead_. But the Blackfish would be the last person to kid around, especially not about that. She's family to him too.

"How -- "

"Not here. These are matters I'd not discuss out in the open," he responded abruptly, looking around them. They're in the forest somewhere, the small number of men with them all either asleep or far enough that they wouldn't hear. "All you need to know right now is that she asked me to bring you home and that's what I'll do."

Jon's got more questions he wants to ask about Sansa, like: _how is she alive? Where is she now? Why isn't she with them? How did she find him?_ \-- all these questions he needs an answer to right now but he tries to swallow it down.

He took a deep breath, there's some other things he'd like to know that Brynden might be able to tell him. "How long have I been gone?"

"Three years." The man fixed him with a serious look. "They kept you in all that time?"

Jon nodded. "Not just me, other soldiers, too. The Bull, Giantslayer, the Hound, the Red Priest -- they're all still there... " He made a face. "At least, I think. I don't know how long ago but they transferred me to that place you found me in."

"The Bull survived?" Blackfish nodded thoughtfully. "Once you get North, you can discuss that. I think you'd convince the Commander to sanction a rescue team for your men."

"Commander?" He echoed quietly, looking at Brynden hopefully. "Is Ned Stark -- "

The Blackfish is shaking his head before he could even finish his sentence. "Ned Stark is dead. I'm talking about her daughter, Arya Stark. The last living Stark."

Jon's frown is back, his joy at knowing that Arya's alive tempered by his confusion. Was he mistaken earlier? "But I thought y -- "

"Think, boy," The Blackfish cuts him off, giving him a forceful look.

He understands it then, the pieces clicking into place. Arya's taken the place of her father and -- and Sansa, if what Brynden said is to be believed, is alive as well. And here in the South. While Jon's relieved to know this, after all this time thinking that she's lost to him, there's something that doesn't feel right.

 _What's she doing in the South? How did she find him? How has no one taken her hostage as a Stark herself?_ If no one knows she's alive it must mean that she's here as somebody else, posing as a spy for the North.

It's the only thing that makes sense; Brynden hasn't mentioned her name once, not even in the company of Northern soldiers. If Jon thinks about it, for all the other men that overheard their conversation, they could've easily been referring to Arya.

That's how he proceeds in the next few of days, quietly filling in the blanks from vague information that Brynden can provide.

From what he's learned so far, he thinks that something must have went wrong with their plans. Brynden said they weren't supposed to transport him North for a few more weeks but they've been forced to speed up the plans somehow. Jon's apparently supposed to say at the secret base in Riverrun, but the place was ambushed while Jon was unconscious, and they had to evacuate in secret so that no one would know he's still alive.

Someone must want him dead, then. A surprising turn of events considering how long the Southerners tried to keep him alive.

They're somewhere in the forest between Oldstones and Seagard now, heading North towards the border, but Jon doesn't know any further than that.

According to Brynden, Seagard is an ally territory, though only in secret. It's the base used by Southern spies stationed at the frontlines to disseminate intel and there's two such people waiting for them when they arrive at the long-abandoned stronghold.

"This is as far as I can take you," Brynden tells Jon apologetically. "I've matters to attend to in the war but I promised my niece I'll help bring you North. I'm not going to break that promise." He waves one of the soldiers forward. "This is Edric Dayne, he'll be part of your new detail for this next part of your Journey. He's a Stark Man through and through, he's one of the spies stationed as a Captain."

They shake hands, a short and quiet introduction, before Brynden hands him a folded set of clothes.

"This is riskier," Brynden admits as Jon studied what he realizes to be Southern military uniform. "But if done right, it'll prove to be more efficient."

Jon swallowed thickly. He understands what this means. He's to pose as a soldier loyal to the South in order to get to the frontlines.

He stared at the uniform in quiet disdain; he hates everything it stands for. It reminds him of everything he and his loved ones had endured by the hands of the people who wore the exact same attire.

If he's honest, he would prefer wearing the pile of garbage he had on prior to his escape but those are gone now, left somewhere near a river they passed where Jon had washed up, and his duty to the his family weighs more than his honor.

Before he left, Jon asked for a minute alone to speak with Brynden. Apparently, there's a few more Southern allies whose arrival they have to wait for and Brynden would be gone by then.

"Am I really supposed to trust these men?" He asked. His mind and body is not well enough to get North on his own so he has no choice but to trust them. He just needs to know if he should. Jon frowned. "A southern soldier, a Captain, no less, is going to help us? Is going to help me?" Jon shakes his head. "I can't trust that."

Brynden sighed. "Times has changed, boy. This war has wrought on so much violence for so long now -- and for what? For that vile boy king and his vanity." Brynden shook his head in disgust. "Those men at the front, this isn't their fight, they just want it to end. Doesn't much matter to them who does the ending."


	5. Chapter 5

**Jon**

 

The journey to the border is quiet.

Despite Brynden’s assurance that these Southerners can be trusted, Jon can’t bring himself to do so. The man, Edric, seems a bit too polished to know what kind of horrors the war can bring.

Who’s to say he won’t easily give Jon up to the enemies, should worse come to worse?  
As though sensing Jon’s doubts, the man – boy, really – turns to him. “I know I’m a stranger to you and you have no reason to trust me, sir, but I swear I’ll bring you North if it’s the last thing I do.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at him. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

He ducks his head, looking embarrassed. “I’ve heard of you before. From Arya. She spoke very fondly of you.” He turned to Jon. “I know she’d be happy to see you again.”

Edric doesn’t have to say more than that. Jon recognizes that look in his eyes as he said Arya’s name. He’s in love with her.

Jon looked away to the window. He knows that look because he’s seen it before. Gendry had the same expression whenever he spoke of the youngest Stark daughter.

“How do you know Arya?”

“I met her on the King’s road. She’d been travelling alone trying to find you and… and your men… so I thought I’d accompany her. Protect her, maybe.” Edric laughed softly. “We ran into trouble and she’d ended up protecting me, instead. Helping her seek justice for her family is my way of repaying her for the favor.”

Jon allows himself a small smile. It sounds just like something Arya would get into.

They’re quiet for the rest of the way and once they arrive, Edric smuggles him into the Southern camp effortlessly. All he had to do was blend in with the soldiers in command.

“What’s with your man ere?” A soldier meets them near the gates, nodding at Jon.

Jon avoids eye contact, trying not to bring any more attention to himself. They’d done the best they could to groom him before coming here. They’d bathed him, chopped off his hair and shaved his beard, but there’s not much they can do to hide his injuries and his current fragility.

Still, Edric gives it a shot. He laughed, patting Jon on the back as though they’d known each other for years. “I’m afraid Jonnel here had over-indulged in wine and women the night before. It’d be a while before he gets the opportunity again, Ser. You know how it is.”

The man’s face contorts into annoyance. What Edric have said must’ve struck a chord with the man. Jon sneaks a peek at his name. Meryn Trant. It sounds familiar but he can’t place it at the moment.

He makes a low irritated sound. “What’s your business here, Dayne?”

Edric flashes him a smile as he retrieved a piece of paper with the Baratheon seal. “Official business, Ser. Order came right from the top.” He hands the paper to Meryn Trant before looking around. “I see they haven’t pushed us back with their recent attack.”

Meryn grunted. “They almost did. Lucky the Tyrells arrived with reinforcements on time or else we’d all be damned.”

Edric hummed. “Yes. Lucky.”

Meryn holds the letter up after reading it. “I’ll be keeping this,” he said before nodding to one of the men to unbar the gate.

Jon holds his tongue until he thinks it’s safe enough to speak. It’s a wasteland beyond the gates of the Twins; the land carries the proof of the only thing this war had brought either side; complete destruction.

“We’ll travel along the path of the river to Greywater Watch, keep our heads down to avoid other raiders,” Edric tells them. “This is meant to be a raid so let’s keep up pretenses until we no longer have to.” 

“I thought the ambush was a success?” Jon finally asked once he and Edric are at a distance from their party. 

It’s what Brynden had said as they made their way south; the ambush was a success and once everything is in place, the North will be ready to set everything right.

And yet the Southerners are convinced they’d defended their borders well.

Edric looked behind them, making sure they’re at a good distance before facing Jon again. “the Tyrells are for us,” he answered in a low voice. “And now their men are the bulk of what’s keeping watch on that border.” Edric shrugged. “it’s true that we would’ve preferred if they arrived much later, let the North push the line back a little, but they’d wanted to avoid suspicion. If they arrived any later, they wouldn’t be as celebrated as they are now.”

Jon frowned. “They want the North to win this war?”

He wonders why. What could the Tyrells gain from this?

A memory flashes in his mind as he tried to find and answer to his question, and he feels his stomach drop.

“Who’s Willas Tyrell?” Jon asked, squinting at the top corner of the paper. “And why are you writing to him?”

“He’s a friend I made when we visited King’s Landing. Mother introduced us,” she tells him nonchalantly, handing him the boy’s letter to inspect. “He’s been telling me about places in Highgarden that he thinks I’ll like.”

Jon frowned as he skimmed through the flowery words and finds that he has only one question: “Why?”

Sansa finally dropped her pen and turned to him, this teasing smile on her lips. She can see right through him. 

“I’m just making friends, Jon.”

He doesn’t doubt that, but still –

“Your mother introduced you?”

Her smile widened as she nodded. “She was hoping I’d develop a fondness for Willas.”  
Jon gulped. “And?”

She pressed her lips to hide her smile now, cupping his cheeks in her hands to get him to look at her in the eyes. 

“I love you.” She pecked hiom on the mouth. “Only you.”

But Sansa doesn’t have to love the man to strike a match. While Jon’s still having trouble believing that she’s alive, you can’t deny that a marriage between Stark and Tyrells, especially if the North wins the war, would be beneficial.

“When you think about it, it makes sense,” Edric says, cutting into his thoughts with that same hushed tone. “Say this war is over and the North has won. What then? Who rules the South and what assurance do we have that whoever takes place won’t make the mistake of coming after Northern lands again?”

This issue was already a concern early in this war and Ned Stark had personally tasked Jon with ensuring they secure a Southern ally who will take over Southern leadership once everything has come to pass.

Jon frowned. “What happened to Stannis?”

Last he remembers, Stannis had sworn his strength to the cause. It should still be the same if he wants Joffrey’s throne. Unless he died.

Edric waved it off. “The man broke faith, said it was Ned Stark he made an agreement with and no one else. He’s convinced he’ll win this war on his own.” Edric scoffed. “He thinks Arya’s just a child playing at war.”

Jon frowned. It definitely sounds like Stannis to be so sure of himself. Still, Ned Stark chose the man as an ally because he’s smart enough to know that the Northern independence should stand.

Northmen are loyal creatures; their way is the Old way, as Ned would often say. No Northman would simply bow to any stranger who seeks to rule over them.  
And Stannis knows that to try means more death and destruction.

“How can we be sure the Tyrells wouldn’t just betray us when the time comes?”  
Edric shrugged. “Dunno. They won’t actually tell me anything at the risk of capture so I’m merely guessing about most of it. Besides…” Edric looked directly into his eyes. “I’m a soldier. The whole business with the Tyrells is politics – the Red Wolf handles that.”

Jon understands what he means to imply. Sansa.

“You know?”

Edric nodded. “Not many people do but I was with Arya when we found Red.”

“Ser,” one of Edric’s men called. Lem, Jon thinks his name is.

He was among the few instructed to go ahead as a scouting party to advice Arya of their arrival.

“What news?”

“The Commander is driving out to meet us, Sir.”

Edric scowled. “She knows it’s dangerous for her to be out in the open like this. Stubborn girl,” he groused before turning to Jon. “There’s a price on Arya’s head. Lannisters think her death would mean the end of all this.”

  
**Arya**

Arya immediately spots Edric’s party even from a distance, but try as she does, she can’t seem to spot which of them is Jon. 

It isn’t until after the jeep had stopped and she’s standing among them that she recognizes him. He’s different. His hair is short, face clean-shaven, and body so thin it’s a wonder how he managed to survive.

The Southerners wouldn’t have been kind to him, she knew that, but the sight of him like this – a far cry from the Jon Arya remembers – still spikes up that anger in her.

Sansa had tried to prepare her for this, too. But it didn’t work.

She tried to swallow down her tears now. She can still remember the last time she saw him and the memory only serves to make this reunion more painful.

Unable to stop herself, she runs up and hugged him like the last time, pretending for a moment that she was a child once again, and she had all her family back.

 _Brother_ , her mind screamed gratefully because Jon may not be her blood but he’s family in all the ways that count. _I still have a brother._

She thought they were all lost to her. Robb, she had to see his death with her own eyes, and never again. Never again will she allow any of her family to be a casualty of this war.

“Little wolf,” Jon breathed out in relief. “Last I saw you, you had to jump for a hug.”  
Arya laughed just as the tears fell. She holds onto him for a moment longer before letting go. She has duties to attend to.

With a sniff, she turned to Edric. “How did the border look?”

“Rosy.”

Which means they’ve succeeded. She nodded and led them to the jeeps with Edric and his men occupying one and had Jon join her in hers. 

She’s surprised to find that she doesn’t know what to say to him.

It would be a first; Jon used to be her greatest confidante yet she finds herself hesitant now.

There are parts of her journey she would not share, just as she’s sure he does as well.

“Gendry’s alive,” Jon blurts out moments later when they’re alone, aside from the driver, in the jeep. He turned to her sheepishly. “At least the last time I saw him. I don’t know how long ago but he was alive before they transferred me.”

Arya swallowed, turning to him. She doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t even know how to feel. Should she be grateful that Gendry’s alive when it means he’s been suffering all these years?

“I’ll find him,” is the only thing Arya says, and they’re quiet the rest of the way.

The first thing she does when they get back to the base is to message Sansa that Jon has arrived safe. She keeps the part about Gendry to herself. It’s up to her to find him, her sister has other worries.

Later in the night, Edric comes to her office to hand her what he came there to bring.

“A gift,” he said teasingly, handing her a flash drive. 

Arya takes it gratefully. It contains the next plan of action now that the Southern border is littered with allies. As much as the public thinks she’s the new leader of this revolution, it’s Sansa who actually calls the shots. 

“Is something wrong?” Edric asked, startling her.

She was staring at the flash drive for no reason at all, her mind wandering. 

She shook her head. “No.”

“Arya,” Edric said pointedly, looking at her with a knowing look. “I’ve known you for years. I can tell something’s bothering you, what is it?”

Arya took a deep breath. “Gendry’s alive.” 

Something in Edric’s expression changes but Arya doesn’t have the time to process it now. All she can think of is Gendry being harmed by their enemies and it’s much worse than accepting that he’d died

For so long she thought he had and now that she knows otherwise, the image of Gendry in suffering occupies her mind.

“How do you know?” Edric asked.

“Jon.”

“Alright. What’s the plan?” Arya looked at him in surprise and it makes him laugh. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

Of course she does. It's Gendry.

“I do. It’s a terrible one.”


End file.
